


The Mother of All Bad Guys

by stranestelle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, CRACK TREATED AS CRACK, CW: Suicide Mention, Dark Comedy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Happy Ending, Skywalker Family Feels, With A Twist, apart from those should be pretty safe to read, expectation: vader, reality: moeder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27860166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stranestelle/pseuds/stranestelle
Summary: Sidious decides that turning Anakin to the dark side is just too much of a hassle and gets the brilliant, way less far-fetched idea to clone him instead. Okay, let’s think about that for a moment. He decides to clone Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One born of a supernatural conception, who got 100% of his DNA from Shmi Skywalker and an indefinite amount of… Force magic from a disembodied cosmic entity.What could go wrong?p.s. the title is extremely ironic
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Anakin Skywalker & Shmi Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Sheev Palpatine & Anakin Skywalker, Sheev Palpatine/All of His Plans Backfiring
Comments: 147
Kudos: 154





	1. Come to the Dark Side, We Have Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello~
> 
> for those wondering, yes, this IS the third clone(-adjacent) au I’ve started within the last 14 months AND the second one I’ve started within the last 2 months AND the third one I currently have ongoing. so… yeah. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> honestly it’s all Spongyllama’s fault for introducing me to this tumblr post: 
> 
> ”jerseydevious: wait: anakin only had one gene donor. the only genes he’s carrying, apparently, are his mother’s, and the force bullshitted the rest. so, if you were to try and clone him - wouldn’t you just get clones of shmi? imagine palpatine trying to clone vader and ending up teenage shmi skywalker, here to fuck you up”
> 
> *edit. here's a link: https://padmesstylist.tumblr.com/post/154602000005/jerseydevious-wait-anakin-only-had-one-gene
> 
> and for indirectly helping me find this post: 
> 
> https://newswcanonprompts.tumblr.com/post/626368593319411712/prompt-1-vader-is-clone-of-anakin 
> 
> so all the credit for the basic premise of this story goes to the lovely people above! <3 here’s the kicker: this is an extremely cracky take on that premise. 
> 
> the credit for the title goes to the localization team of Kingdom Hearts II.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: suicide mention in this first chapter with no actual suicide. just cold-blooded murder, whoops. (rip dooku.) and a subsequent joke about it. it sounds worse than it is in context… probably. -sweats- 
> 
> also, just a little bit of blood. did I mention this is generally gonna be a fluffy story? 
> 
> without further ado…

_Don’t you just hate it when you’re a secret Sith Lord hell-bent on taking over the Galaxy and everything won’t proceed exactly as you have foreseen? Isn’t that just so annoying?_

It was a rhetorical question. And it was a rhetorical question that Darth Sidious might have addressed to the room or maybe to an anonymous audience on one of those message boards on the Holonet, had he a) thought it was a good idea and not in any way counterproductive to the success of his plans b) thought that there was someone out there who could actually relate to the dilemma posited in the question… in question. 

Alas, the only other person who might have answered with an enthusiastic ’Yes! Drives me nuts!’ was currently missing both hands and down on his knees with two lightsabers of contrasting colors scissored at his neck. Which would have been fine – in fact, it would have been _excellent,_ and perfectly in accordance with Sidious’ plans – if only his biggest plan of all would just hurry up and 

”DEWIT!”

already. 

But there he was, just… standing and looking vaguely conflicted. Anakin Skywalker, the most powerful being in the Galaxy – apart from Sidious himself, of course. Again, it was lonely at the top. There weren’t many people who could relate to the kind of problems a Master of the dark side and the ruler of the entire effing universe would face on a dail… monthly basis. He wasn’t some inept halfwit. 

Where was he? Oh right, the problem he was currently having, right here and now, aboard the Invisible Hand, cuffed to a chair, gawking at this sad creature who couldn’t seem to make up his damn mind about killing one pitiful excuse for an arch enemy. Come on, it was just Dooku. A glorified placeholder, a second-rate tool that had outlived its usefulness. For Sheev’s sake! 

”Skywalker, I want you to listen to me very carefully,” a quivering voice rippled forth the shell-shocked body sunken on the floor, and Sidious rolled his eyes. The pathetic fool actually flattered himself that _he_ would get to reveal Sidious’ secret and send his schemes off the rails. 

”KILL HIM! KILL HIM NOW!” the Sith Master roared, drowning out Dooku’s next words.

”Shh, let’s just hear him out,” Skywalker hissed in frustration, the dual blades shifting at Dooku’s throat in a fashion that, in turn, filled Sidious with frustration. ”It’s only fair.”

 _Fair,_ Sidious grumbled internally. _You want to talk about fair? Fair would be you killing that tottering old-timer right about now and then pledging yourself to my service for all eternity!_ He exhaled slowly, _But life’s not fair, so I’d better fake a heart attack or something to distract the boy, like –_

”Anakin… Anakin, help me…”

_Yeah, like that!_

Sidious’ head snapped to the side as he identified the pained whine as not originating from himself, but from the other side of the open, circular cabin. 

He’d almost forgotten about Kenobi, who’d apparently come to after getting buried under a balcony that Dooku had dropped on him earlier (as agreed in the _plan!_ P-L-A-N! Oh, how he missed things going according to plan). But wait a minute, the timing was perfect, actually. There went Skywalker, right on cue, dropping both sabers with a clang and scurrying to his soon-to-be-ex-master in a touching display of fraternity and fondness. (Soon to be destroyed.) 

”Master, are you okay?”

Sidious acted quickly. While Skywalker was occupied with lifting the heavy, bent structure off his friend and Kenobi busy being a useless yet oddly resilient piece of meat as usual, Sidious wasted no time in accessing the Force with his bound but still very much functional hands. Dooku was desperately trying to produce one meaningful syllable, now with the added challenge of doing it in a speaking volume that would carry to the other side of the room, but was only managing panicked noises and panicked looks. ”Any last words?” Sidious asked derisively before lifting the red saber in a theatrical spin and planting it in his apprentice’s chest with a satisfying _hiss-thwack._

At least Dooku had the good grace to die instantly, his limp body falling forward and hitting the floor head first. The saber deactivated automatically as it followed him with a clatter. Not a nanosecond too soon, because Skywalker was already helping Kenobi to his feet when both of them felt that hollow thud of death in the Force and turned their heads. 

”W-what…?” Skywalker stammered, slinging Kenobi’s arm over his shoulder before proceeding to help him limp across the room to the corpse. ”What happened?”

”Oh,” Sidious uttered, turning his hands about against the armrests where they lay bound. ”I believe… there was a… draft.” He was already cringing internally while the words were still leaving his mouth. He was Darth Sidious, secret Sith Lord, master manipulator and liar, not a little boy with cookie crumbs all over his mouth and shirt! 

”A draft?” Kenobi repeated dully, glancing over to the viewport that separated them from the cold, windless void of space. 

”Yes, uh… a draft in the Force,” Sidious stumbled and wanted to slap himself. If Kenobi were his mom, he’d be halfway to his room, getting dragged along by his ear by now. Or something. He wouldn’t know, he’d killed his mom and had all the cookies he’d wanted. 

”Is that supposed to be some sort of euphemism for suicide?” Kenobi suggested. 

”Suicide! YES! Thank you!” Sidious exclaimed, getting so excited and relieved by this narrow escape that he banged his fists against the armrests. Watching the Galaxy’s most celebrated heroes jump back in appalled surprise was incredibly entertaining. ”That’s the word I was looking for, before I… uh, remembered how important it is to respect the dead.” Nice save. He was _on fire_ again. Kinda like that last batch of cookies he’d tried to bake. Ugh. Store-bought was best. 

”…Riiight,” Kenobi intoned as he disengaged himself from Skywalker and leaned down to cut away Sidious’ bonds. ”Well, I don’t see what else could have occurred. Force rest his soul.” He turned to frown at the body one more time while Skywalker helped Sidious to his feet. ”Did that same gust of wind lop off his hands, too, by any chance?” 

”No, that was me,” Skywalker confessed. ”Dammit, I really wanted hear what he had to say. Something about ’that man is a…’”

”Hm,” Kenobi shrugged. ”A Sith Lord –” 

”I beg your pardon? Perhaps I misheard,” Sidious stammered. 

”I was going to say, a Sith Lord cannot be trusted.” _Ah._ ”He might've just been trying to manipulate you, Anakin.”

”Yeah, like I would ever fall for that,” Skywalker grunted. 

-

One of the absolute worst days in Sidious’ life was finally behind him. It hadn’t been enough that he had to off Dooku himself instead of having his future apprentice get his hands dirty, _oh no._ They just had to almost fall to their deaths, walk into a ray shield, get captured by Grievous, almost get sucked to their deaths, pilot a flaming half a ship and almost crash to their deaths. Well, they’d still _crashed,_ because of course they had. Just not to their deaths. And for the first time in his life, Sidious was debating whether that outcome might have been a mercy, after all. 

Force, he hated Kenobi. And he hated Skywalker, too, and was, at the present moment, having a really hard time convincing himself that he would still _loooove_ his future Sith persona. Or not _love,_ per se, because the Sith didn’t do love. Gain morbid gratification from his transformation from man to monster and his lifelong enslavement to Sidious, or whatever. 

But Force, was the boy _annoying!_ They were both so annoying, he and Kenobi. The worst part of today wasn’t even all those close calls and near-death experiences, although Sidious could have done without those. No, it was having to listen to the non-stop stream of banter that ran back and forth between the two of them as they happily bumbled their way through the mission, like it was all a fun game to them! He did not want Skywalker having _fun._ In fact, the sooner he could get him clinically depressed and disconnected from everything and everyone that could possibly bring him a smidgen of joy, the better. 

But then, he had seen the boy in that state, too, and honestly, it was hardly an improvement. He was still just as infuriating. Like when he’d killed that tribe of sand… sand… men? (Whatever.) And he’d been oh-so-ashamed and guilt-stricken and blah blah blah. And his mom had died (Sh… Shrek, or what’s her face?) and he’d failed her and oh, _boohoo._ And Sidious had to pretend to care about him and his petty little woes and place strategic touches on his shoulder and back and arms. Ew. Act like a father figure to him. Double ew. 

It wasn’t that Sidious didn’t get a kick out of it, too, watching the boy fall for the act and eat up his manipulations and nod along to his subtle jabs at the Jedi and his Master, and all that. And of course, murdering those sand… wiches had been an important step towards his eventual fall to the dark side. (Man, _he_ could really murder a cheese-and-ham sandwich right about now.) But today, Skywalker’s darkward descent had proved to be less than linear when he’d refused to kill Dooku. Which meant that Sidious had to put forth extra effort if he was going to secure his early Life Day present, the most exciting item on his wishlist besides Jedi genocide and a new bathrobe.

Sidious leaned over his desk and sighed. Speaking of wishes, sometimes he wished Skywalker had a switch on him that Sidious could flip that would make him turn, kind of like a light switch, except… well, exactly like a light switch when you switched the lights off. Kind of like the on/off switch on one of those rust buckets the boy was so fond of, or the Order 66 protocol programmed into the control chips the clones were implanted with… 

The _clones._

His beautiful army of genetically engineered clones. 

Loyal. Strong. Nice and enslaved. 

Why, this was the answer. 

The timing was perfect. He’d just received news from Kamino last month that the research team had finally discovered the secret to the cloning of midichlorians alongside an individual’s genetic make-up. However, to mass-produce them and then pass them onto multiple recipients was apparently impossible, because it seemed that a given reserve of midichlorians formed a resistance to the duplication procedure after already being subjected to it once. Furthermore, the new batch of artificial midichlorians, for whatever reason, developed the same immunity already in the cloning process. Which meant that he couldn’t just create an army of Force-sensitive super soldiers, because each of them would have to be fashioned individually from a different Force-sensitive template. 

However, using this exciting new avenue as the basis for a back-up plan in case Skywalker refused to turn had already crossed his mind then. But up until today, the boy had showed such promising progress that Sidious had forgotten all about it for a while. But after today…

His attention perked up from the surface of his desk when he suddenly sensed Skywalker nearby. Probably dropping his wife off to work as usual and trying to play it off as ’an exercise in Jedi-Senate relations’, or whatever those two lovey-dovey nitwits were calling it this week. Sidious glanced at his chronometer. The session was starting soon, so Amidala would have probably sent him on his way already. 

With a ’here goes nothing’ sort of shrug, Sidious brought his wrist comm to his lips and summoned the boy to his office. In less than a minute, in walked Skywalker, looking… happier than Sidious had ever seen him. He was also making his utmost effort to hide it and failing miserably, a disgusting, beaming smile stretching his cheeks wide and making his face twitch. Barf. Skywalker having fun was bad enough, but whatever this was, was infinitely worse. 

”Chancellor,” Skywalker greeted, positively… glowing. ”Such a beautiful day outside, isn’t it?”

”Yes, uh… I’m donating some hand-made wigs to impoverished… hairless children. So be a good boy and get a plastic cup from the fresher and cut me a big tuft of those angelic curls of yours and _bam!_ Good deed of the day, done. Actually, make that two cups and spit in the other. I’m also donating to the… uh, the Interplanetary Water Fund.”

Skywalker blinked, but turned on his heel. ”Anything else?”

”Actually…” Sidious reached into the top drawer and pulled out a freshly sharpened dagger. Before Skywalker’s Force-heightened reflexes could react, he’d thrown it across the air and sunk the tip of the blade into the exposed back of the boy’s flesh hand. 

Non-plussed, Skywalker slowly raised the punctured hand with the offending blade still embedded and frowned at the trickle of red that oozed from the wound. ”Let me guess, you’re also donating to the blood bank?” 

”Better make that three cups.” 


	2. Be Careful of Your Pal, Friendpatine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> less of the funnies, more of the character studies, but I hope you enjoy it! :)

_A baby!_

Anakin all but vibrated with… happiness? Excitement? Nervousness? Dread? All of those at once?

He and Padmé were having a baby. He could scarcely believe it. Well, they said seeing was believing, and he could certainly _see_ it now, her beautifully rounded baby bump bulging out underneath the folds of his wife’s silken nightgown. And he’d felt it too, just moments ago, when she’d suddenly grabbed his hand and placed it on that lovely little mound so he could feel their child kick. He’d even gone as far as to declare it their _daughter_ , based on the intensity of the kick. (Padmé had respectfully disagreed.) 

So why was it so hard to believe?

Maybe because he was _freaking out?_ To be sure, he was happy, happier than he’d ever been. Like, over the moon, across the stars, through an asteroid storm, crash-landing on a planet made entirely of bouncy castles, happy. But he was also freaking out. Like, his wife in danger, Obi-Wan in that same danger, Ahsoka was also in trouble and so were his men and so was Anakin, probably, because otherwise he would have saved them already, freaking out. Except that nobody was in danger, at least not from his unborn child, but he was still freaking out. Okay fine, not a great analogy. But still. 

So… _why_ was he freaking out?

”I want to have our baby back home on Naboo,” Padmé said dreamily, brushing her gorgeous brown locks over in the balcony. ”We could go to the lake country where no one would know… where we would be safe. I could go early and fix up the baby's room. I know the perfect spot, right by the gardens.”

The plan sounded wonderful. No, really, it did. It was all Anakin wanted, or could ever want. He was happy, deliriously so. He was smiling right now. In fact, his facial muscles had clearly not had enough practice in that department lately because they were getting tired from the amount of smiling he was doing. He was _happy,_ therefore he was _not_ freaking out. Those two emotions could not coexist, ever, in any circumstances, because they were absolutely, positively mutually exclusive. Always. Therefore, he was only feeling one of them, which was happiness. 

”Y-y-you’re so beautiful!!” he shrieked out, for some reason. 

Padmé just smiled at him, proving his point. It _was_ a pretty good point. Ha. Get it? _Pretty_ good, because she was – 

”It’s only because I’m so in…” She trailed off when her gaze fell on Anakin's waist where his hands were folded together. ”Anakin, what’s that terrible gash on the back of your hand?” she asked, pointing there. ”Did you get that in your duel against Dooku?”

”Nah, it's nothing,” Anakin chuckled, rubbing the itchy scar. He’d still been wearing a glove and a bandage earlier when he’d felt the baby kick. ”The Chancellor stabbed me.” 

Padmé’s long lashes fluttered. ”The Chancellor did what now?”

”No, it’s okay,” Anakin assured her. ”He asked me to donate blood.”

Padmé frowned. ”Asked, as in…”

”Stabbed me and then asked. Nicely.”

”Uh-huh. Kinda like I usually trip Jar Jar up first and then ask him to pick up the pin I dropped. Nicely.”

”Oh, come on,” Anakin laughed. ”It was for a good cause.”

”So if I were to randomly stab you in the… thigh, or something, and say it’s for a good cause, that would be okay with you?”

Anakin blew air through his nostrils, ”That’s silly. You would never do that. And yes.”

”If the Chancellor asked you to jump off a cliff, would you?”

”That’s so cliché –” 

”Okay, fine,” Padmé folded her arms across her chest and above the baby bump, ”if he asked you to stab someone else, for a really solid reason, would you?”

”I’m sure there are circumstances in which –” Anakin started, then hesitated. Palpatine kinda sorta _had_ done something like that, hadn’t he? Back on the Invisible Hand, when Anakin had won the duel and disarmed (heh) Dooku, the Chancellor had demanded he kill his opponent right there and then. Even though he was an unarmed (heh… _meh._ ) prisoner, totally powerless and kind of pitiful, really. Heck, he'd committed suicide right after. Okay, so maybe not _completely_ powerless. 

Now that he thought about it, what did the Chancellor care whether he killed Dooku or not? Why had he wanted Anakin to do the deed so badly? _Call me crazy,_ Anakin thought, but he’d seemed kinda mad when the young Jedi had refused. Like, just a teeny-weeny bit. He’d raised his voice, which he rarely ever did. 

He must have just been scared. He’d just been put through quite an ordeal as General Grievous’ hostage. It was a natural reaction that any frightened, mentally stable, non-murderous, non-insane prisoner would have in his place. In fact, considering the circumstances, Anakin would go as far as to say that the Chancellor had kept his cool admirably. 

”You’re spending so much time with him,” Padmé sighed. ”You always run straight to his office after we… finish our business in mine.”

Anakin was still mildly annoyed at her for getting on his case, but couldn’t resist a good old-fashioned wiggle of the eyebrows. She gave him a seductive look of her own before her face soured again, ”And he had to get himself kidnapped and have you rescue him, too, like he’s some princess locked away in a tower? Pah.” 

”Okay, so you’re _jealous_ now?” 

He expected an exasperated denial, maybe a dismissive snort. Best case scenario, another suggestive look that could maybe lead to a makeout session. He most certainly was _not_ anticipating a musical number. 

_”Palpatine, Palpatine, Palpatine, Palpa-tiiiiine~”*_

”What are you doing?” Anakin held up his hands and fell a step back as his wife burst into song. Seeming to assume some strange new stage persona, she closed her eyes and gracefully moved her arms and hands to the imaginary music accompanying her singing, holding the last note and injecting an alarming amount of what seemed like… passion into her voice. 

_”I’m begging of you please don’t take my man~”_

”Your voice is beautiful. Please stop.”

 _”Palpatine, Palpatine, Palpatine, Palpa-tiiiiine~”_ she trilled and plucked on an air guitar. 

”See, that’s too many syllables, it doesn’t work!” Anakin protested. 

She gestured with her hands pleadingly, _”Please don’t take him just because you can~”_

”Take him where? I’m right here, in case you haven’t noticed.” 

She’d already skipped a couple of verses and was now humming, _”You could have your choice of friends, but I could never love again~”_

Anakin was starting to get a little upset, ”How exactly is us being friends preventing that? The love part, I mean? Plus it doesn’t rhyme.” 

She trailed off on the last note, her arms flopping back to her sides. An apologetic smile formed on her lips, and she stepped up close to him. ”It’s not, Anakin. Of course it’s not.” Anakin just released a huff of breath, sensing she had more to say. ”It’s just… honestly, I’ve never really understood that friendship between you two. And is friendship even the right word? He’s like a parental substitute to you.” 

Anakin opened his mouth, finding he had nothing with which to contradict that assertion. And did he even _want_ to contradict it? So what if he saw the Chancellor as a parental figure? What’s the worst thing that could happen? The Chancellor saw Anakin as more of a… nephew? A nephew that he loved and cared for with all his heart? Like his own son? 

”You’re becoming a parent yourself, Ani,” Padmé reminded him, touching him on the shoulder as she passed him. ”You ought to give these things some thought.” She then muttered something about misplacing her favorite tiara and now having to go to bed in the wrong one before disappearing into the fresher. 

Anakin was left standing there, filled with that very specific kind of frustration when you know you should have said _something_ in response, but couldn’t think of a single thing and now the situation was over and you had lost the… not argument, because it wasn’t an argument. The last thing he wanted was to argue with his wife. But for some reason, he found himself struck with a strange need to… defend himself. To justify his life choices. Some of which involved him seeing the Chancellor from time to time and ranting about his life and heeding the older man’s wisdom and maybe, to a barely-there degree, thinking of him as a father figure. Big deal. He used to think of Obi-Wan in that way too, but that just didn’t make much sense anymore. 

But why was it that he seemed to want a father so badly? Well, for one, he’d never had one. Except, well, the Force. He supposed he could play catch with the Force if he levitated one of the gloves in the air and tossed the ball in it and then yanked the glove hard so it tossed the ball back to him, and so on. The Force would technically be a part of the game. But it just sounded kind of lonely, and honestly, he’d rather be doing that with either Obi-Wan or the Chancellor. Or Ahsoka. The Force was great for plenty of other things. A solid, flesh-and-blood presence of body and mind was not one of its strong suits. 

(Probably Obi-Wan or Ahsoka. The Chancellor was, after all, an elderly citizen and he wouldn’t want him to break any bones. There was a reason why he’d asked Anakin to donate blood instead of donating himself. Really, what a stand-up guy.) 

And for another thing… well, Padmé had actually hit the nail on the head. Anakin was about to become a father himself. As in, a solid physical presence in his child’s life who could actually toss the ball back to her with a hand made of flesh and blood, or metal and wires. A real, human parent who would change her diapers and tuck her into bed every night and maybe be expected to share some fatherly wisdom of his own, and – 

That was just it. The reason why he was freaking out. Well, actually, there was more than one. He would have to leave the Jedi Order which meant abandoning his duty and his entire purpose in the universe. Stepping down from his role as the Chosen One and becoming the Chasing One, chasing after his own selfish dreams and desires. And it would also mean leaving Obi-Wan behind, and Ahsoka, too, on the off chance that she was coming back… and Padmé would have to resign from the Senate and everything in their lives would change overnight, and – 

But he was prepared to do that. And he was sure Padmé was, as well. 

He was _not_ prepared for fatherhood. 

He loved his child so much, already, he loved her so much that he could not even compare it to anything. (Or _him,_ in the very slight, remote, unlikely possibility that Padmé’s motherly intuition was correct. And this was also not an argument, it was a competition.) 

But he just… he didn’t know _anything_ about being a dad. He tried to think of one fatherly thing that either Obi-Wan or the Chancellor had done in the past that he could steal for his new-dad bag of tricks, but his mind drew a blank. He didn’t have their wisdom, nor their experience. As a Jedi, he’d always compensated for those two things with his natural aptitude for… well, everything. There had to be one thing he just naturally sucked at. What if it was fatherhood?

What if he dropped her? 

Oh! Oh! He knew this one. Then he could just pick her up with the Force. That was easy. Okay, false alarm. He was good to go.

No, he wasn’t. 

Anakin sighed, staring off over the balcony into the horizon, still smoldering from the battle. The truth was, a part of him didn’t even want a father, not really. He’d certainly never yearned for one back when… 

Back when his mother had still been around. 

Well, there it was. 

A distant image of Shmi Skywalker’s gentle, lovely features etched itself across Anakin’s vision. 

More than anything else in the whole world, he wished she were here right now. To guide him, to talk to him… to see the birth of her first grandchild. 

-

Anakin drifted into wakefulness just as the first rays of morning sun filtered in through the blinds and cast elongated streaks across the bedcovers. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up so… well-rested, so energized. He’d slept through the whole night! How about that. 

Then, with a warm lurch in his chest, he remembered. Once again, he felt those underused muscles get some of that much-needed practice as what he was sure was an enchanted smile stretched across his face. He only snapped out of this dreamy, trancelike state when a heard a sleepy sound from beside him. It was all Anakin could do not to grab his wife by the shoulder right there and then and shake her awake, and, and – 

But he waited patiently as Padmé slowly dragged herself back into the land of the living, greeting her husband with a look that said ’I need that single daily cup of caf I'm still allowed to have. And a hairbrush. And five more minutes.’ 

Instead, what she got was a maniacal, ”I just had the most wonderful dream. It felt so real, so… vivid.” 

”M-hmh.”

”So… _so_ real.” 

Padmé’s head perked up. ”What was it about?” 

”My mom.”

Anakin was only distantly aware of her suddenly attentive gaze drilling into him. He stared up into the ceiling, reliving it all. ”She was here. She was alive. We were celebrating Life Day together. She gave me cologne as a present.” Which was admittedly a weird choice. Anakin wasn’t really a cologne kind of guy, plus the bottle in the dream had looked really expensive. But then, his mom could have gifted him bottled sand and he would have treasured it until the end of time. He would have seasoned his food with it if she told him to. 

”Well,” Anakin could feel the sympathy in his wife’s touch as she kneaded his shoulder, ”you needed some good dreams for a change. I’m happy.”

”No, you don’t understand,” Anakin rounded back on her. ”It felt so real. It felt just like…” 

_Just like…_

_You know, those bad dreams I had. Also about her._

_You might remember those._

She waited a long moment for him to finish the sentence, and when he didn’t, yet another weirdly specific expression crossed her face. But before Anakin could list off how many different things it said, exactly, she’d already thrown her arms around his neck and enveloped him in hug between all three members of their family. Anakin felt the bump press flush against his stomach – and the weird, wonderful feeling that still churned in there, like – 

”I’m hungry. And I need that single daily cup of caf I'm still allowed to have.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your influence is beyond compare  
> With emergency powers to spare  
> With the public and the Senate at your feet 
> 
> Your smile is like the smell of piss  
> Your voice is sly like a serpent’s hiss  
> And I cannot compete with you  
> Palpatine 
> 
> He talks about you when we tryst  
> And because you’re my boss, I just  
> Keep sighing when I hear your name  
> Palpatine*
> 
> (*"Jolene" original lyrics by Dolly Parton. I am so sorry.)


	3. Don't Call Me Shirley

_Finally!_

Sidious’ head was whirling with excitement. He giggled aloud as the holo call winked out, positively giddy. Life Day was almost here, and his pre-order of a sleek new action figure had arrived! A brand new toy to play with and misuse and eventually throw away. He might have not gotten to celebrate many Life Days with his family, but he _got_ what the holiday spirit was all about. _Rest in pieces, Monocrat-Man,_ he thought wistfully, remembering one of those years. _Rest in smaller pieces, family mine._

The last time he’d visited the lab on Kamino, his custom-made Sith figurine had still been a tiny little blob of cells and stray hairs. (Gross.) According to Nala Se, the chief medical scientist of all cloning operations, they were very happy with the final product. Physically, the clone was healthy and strong, with all five fingers on each hand, which was, well, more than the original could boast. At two weeks old, it was already a fully-grown adult in the prime of its physical and mental capacity, corresponding to around 23 years of age, same as Skywalker. Its brain and memory had been loaded with common as well as specialized knowledge about a range of subjects that it would need in order to navigate the Galaxy with ease. At the tender age of fourteen days, it was already a master of all five lightsaber forms, thanks to injections to its motor cortex that Sidious had nicknamed Liquid Badassery. Liquidass… Lick-Bad… Libada. 

Libada. Why did that sound so _dirty_ to his ears? Whatever, he’d probably just forgotten to wash them last night. Anyway, Libada. Try saying that five times fast. ”Libada Libada Libada Libada Libada,” he babbled over the holo connection he didn’t realize was still open until Nala Se answered and told him that she was flattered, but pass. And in case he meant the clone, it was impossible to predict how strong of a sex drive it would have. 

_Grosssssss!_

”Literally who asked?” Sidious snapped and tossed the holoprojector over his desk, hearing it shatter to pieces as it hit the floor. Like he said. All possessions were meant to be misused and ultimately thrown away, and this shiny new Skywalker clone was no exception. 

Where was he? Oh yeah, the midichlorian duplication process had been a huge success, bringing the clone’s grand total well above twenty thousand and its potential to truly astronomical heights. You know, that very same potential that Skywalker himself was currently doing his best to flush down the vacc tube. 

He’d only seen the boy sporadically since he’d made the monumentally wimpy decision to spare Dooku and Sidious had gotten the monumentally brilliant idea to clone those coveted genes that the boy was so very dedicated to wasting. But apparently since then, he’d _really_ committed to that task. Not only was he having a _baby,_ of all things, instead of… uh, ambition? Bloodlust? A maniacal, insatiable thirst for power? (And no, the boy had not officially told Sidious, which the Sith Lord would have appreciated as his go-to father figure/trustworthy and well-intentioned confidante. But one needed only take one glance at the absolute mountain that was Padmé Amidala these days and another glance at the glance Skywalker was giving her and it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. Or two and one together, in this case. Unless it was twins. Which it very well could be, judging by the sheer _size_ of that woman!) 

Again, where was he? Right, not only were they pregnant with a baby or two. But just last week, Sidious’ spies (that definitely did _not_ exist and were most certainly _not_ stalking the boy, especially now that he’d lost interest in the brat… which he most definitely _had_ ) had spotted him shopping for diapers and tiny little baby clothes and worst of all, tiny little baby shoes. Like okay, diapers and clothes he could understand. They served a practical purpose. But Tiny. Little. Baby. SHOES!!! Those cursed, pointless things that the little poop gremlins wouldn’t even be able to wear for months only to then grow out of in a matter of weeks??? Those sickening, frivolous articles of clothing that new parents would purchase on a whim and then justify their impulse buy with, _awbuthesewerejustsocuteandIcouldn’tresistandjustlookatthetinylittletoesdon’tyoujustwuwthemxlbtltltksajksadfsdafdf._

And _this_ was the person his would-be apprentice wanted to be? A stay-at-home dad? A mindless baby-talking goody tiny-shoes? A literal waste of space? 

And to think what might have been. The fool could’ve had it all as Sidious' prized sl… student. Just look where he started. It would have been like one of those classic, uplifting rags-to-riches stories, the boy who rose from slave to… uh, from powerless to powerful. From shit to Sith. You get it. 

Obviously somewhere down the road he’d just kidnap the baby for himself and then clone them too and have the both of them trained as Sith and ultimately make them fight to the death for the honor of becoming Sidious’ new apprentice, yada yada yada. Obviously. But just the fact that Skywalker – his very own Anakin Skywalker that he’d wasted so much time and acting skills on – seemed to be entertaining rather more… cheerful ideas about the future was enough to make Sidious seethe with white-hot fury. How dare he want anything other out of life than drama, death and destruction! 

Oh well, at least Sidious wouldn’t have to suffer his stupid face for long now that the clone was finally… here with its identical features. He might not have thought that sentence through. What he meant was, he wouldn’t have to look at Skywalker… _argh!_ He’d wipe that dopey smile off his… _ahem._ He would send the clone to kill Skywalker and as a result, Skywalker would die. Happy? It wasn’t clever, but it got the point across. 

-

The lab on Kamino was white and boring as always. As far as Sidious’ tastes in interior decoration went, he was more of a heavy blacks and reds kind of guy. Those could really give any space a sense of… gravitas, plus they reminded him of darkness and blood. Red was also good for appetite. This sterile, clinical smell on the other hand… Sidious felt his nose crinkling in disgust as Nala Se led him through the endless maze of identical hyper-clean corridors, missing most of what she was explaining to him while struggling to keep this morning’s double pimento cheese down. 

”Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah,” he hurried the scientist along. ”Where is it? I trust it’s… fully operational?”

”Well, I believe that is for you to judge, my lord,” she said as they came up to an important-looking door. Just then, her comm beeped. ”If you’ll kindly excuse me, I shall leave you two to get acquainted.” Without waiting for Sidious’ dismissal, she then spun on her heel and disappeared through another door. 

”Women,” Sidious grumbled. ”The insolence!” Waving the entrance before him open, he shot one last glare after her just for the petty satisfaction of muttering, ”Or is it that time of the month again?” Honestly, he’d never understood what people meant when they said that, but it sounded mean so he’d casually started using it. The only downsides were that a) people didn’t seem to understand what he meant when he changed it to ’is it that time of the day again?’ (wouldn’t it be even meaner if the… whatever was implied to be a daily occurrence rather than just monthly?) b) apparently you could only use it on femal… 

_… esss…_

Sidious distantly registered the blast doors snapping closed behind him as he stepped into the room, completely empty except for… whatever bad joke this was supposed to be. _Who… what…_ were the only coherent thoughts running through his head as he stared open-mouthedly at the young, brown-haired woman standing before him. She was dressed in a simple white outfit, and on her face shone a look of bright-eyed… what was the word… insolence? No, he was thinking of Dr. Se. Insubordination? That wasn't it. Like naivete, but supposedly positive. That quality that small children had, unless they murdered their entire family without a shred of remorse.

Whatever, useless word for useless people. What was going on here? Who was this? They make a batch of female Jango Fetts? Janga Femmes, if you will? 

”Hey,” he clicked his wrist-comm open. ”Dr. Se, you there? You took me to the wrong room. There’s no Skywalkers here. Just this… uh…” He looked up from his unresponsive wrist and his brow furrowed. There was _something_ about her… 

”Hello,” the woman – no more than a girl, really – greeted in an insufferably chipper and youthful voice. ”Pleasure to meet y– ” She cut herself off as Sidious felt the frown on his face twist into a full-on grimace. She looked at him uncertainly. ”Are you okay, sir?”

”That’s my lord to you, uh, miss!” he spluttered, unable to think of a fitting insult in time. ”And worry about yourself!” 

”Oh, I apologize, my lord,” she hastened to say, doing a little… curtsy? A CURTSY??? ”Yes, yes, I recognize you now, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. The images in my memory bank made you look…”

She hesitated, and Sidious made an impatient gesture, now curious. 

She cleared her throat. ”…shorter.”

Sidious would have _loved_ to figure out whether that was supposed to be an insult or a compliment, had that endeavor, among a few of other things happening at the present moment, not been such a complete waste of his time and energy. Who was this random… uh, young lady? Man, he was not good at gendered insults. 

_Wait…_

He reached out with his mind, probing at her presence in Force. Yes, she was a Force-sensitive, and an extremely powerful one, at that. _Almost…_ he probed closer, closing his eyes. _Off-the-charts level of powerful._

_Except, not almost._

But that wasn’t even the most disturbing part. The most disturbing part was that there was something so distinctly _…_ _Skywalker_ about her.

_Wait, wait…_

”Sheik?” 

The young woman blinked. ”I’m sorry?”

”Cher? Shirley?” It was Sh-something. Shauna? Shmargaret? He’d never had the occasion to care before. Distantly, he could hear Skywalker’s whiny throat noises cutting through his skull like dull knives. _My mom this, I’m a big baby that._

”Are you giving me a name?” the girl asked cheerily. ”Oh, that would make me so happy, _thank you,_ my lord. All the other clones here have names and I’ve been feeling so left out. We haven’t been properly introduced, by the way. I’m PA-0213.” She extended her hand and let out what could only be described as - Sidious felt his nostrils flare with barely suppressed fury - _a giggle._ ”Well, for now.”

When Sidious didn’t take her hand, she pulled it away sheepishly. ”A-and I know who you are. As already established.”

”Dr. Se? Dr. Se?” Sidious called into his comm again. How could this have happened? Literal blood, sweat and tears had been shed over this! There was no mistaking it: PA stood for Powerful Apprentice, which was the official designation of this little pet project. The purpose of which had been to clone _Skywalker,_ not his mother! Anakin Skywalker, the most powerful being in the universe, _helloooo!_ Six feet and two inches of raw power, wrapped into the easily led package of an emotionally unstable young man! Not this polite, chirpy, tittering little – where _did_ all this personality even come from? Sure, she would have had several libraries’ worth of information and know-how programmed into her brain, but the lack of actual life experience and human contact should have rendered her something of a blank slate. Ideal killer material. Which brought him back to Skywalker, the Force’s own son, which this peppy little schoolgirl most certainly was no–

_No…_

But she _was_ the Force’s one night stand, wasn’t she? 

_Hold on a sec. Or maybe hold on several decades, actually,_ because he would need at least that long to process this. 

He’d provided the cloning team with samples of Anakin Skywalker’s DNA. One hundred percent of which the boy would have received from Shmm… mmama Skywalker. 

Because the rest… well, the Force had taken care of the rest. 

Sidious felt a headache coming on, or maybe a stroke. Or maybe death. 

”Are you sure you’re okay?”

Please, _please,_ let it be death this time.


	4. Now, Be Brave and Show No Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't mean to jinx anything but Happy New Year! 
> 
> the rots timeline is probably a little wonky in this one, just go with it I guess?

_Okay okay okay okay okay._

Everything was fine. Sidious had just overreacted a little, was all. He’d just overreacted because once again, things had not quite gone according to plan. Which was his least favorite way for things to go. But he could work with this, right?

Had he not wanted to get rid of Anakin Skywalker’s stupid face once and for all? And this clone, this… surprise ingredient in a bowl of soup that tasted dubious but at least wasn’t growing anything yet… she still had all the necessary qualifications in order to serve as Sidious’ apprentice, right? The astronomical midichlorian count, the highly advanced skill set, the raw potential, all readily installed into her spanking new, youthfully healthy body? And it wasn’t a question of sex, either. Sidious would never discriminate against anyone based on such arbitrary factors as gender or species, he always killed indiscriminately and despised everyone equally. Except when he didn't. Case in point: Skywalker. That lousy, diaper-hoarding little - 

It was just her personality (or rather, the inexplicable existence thereof) that needed a little work, but once she got to dip her hands in blood and really vibe with the dark side, that little nuisance would just kind of take care of itself, right? Right? Unlike Skywalker, who most likely wouldn't. 

”Okay okay okay okay okay,” Sidious finally opened his mouth, fanning his face in self-reassurance. The clone perked up in attention. ”I assume you’ve been informed as to why you’re here, yes? As in, in existence, out here in the material world? _And I am a material_ -" Ugh, those karaoke nights with Skywalker had not paid off as he'd hoped, in more ways than one. "Ahem. Cogito, ergo sum, and all that? No major existential crises going on at the present moment?”

The clone frowned, ”Well…”

”Okay good." Sidious slammed his palms together in a ceremonious clap. "Basically, hey, you won the lottery. Several lotteries, in fact. One of them is the genetic lottery. Although it wasn’t technically a lottery, because those genes were given to you, specifically. I mean, I suppose those were your own genes to begin with, but they were also your sonnnn… someone else’s. Sort of. It’s very confusing. Anyway, it would kinda defeat the purpose of lottery if the winner was always picked beforehand. Let’s not get into fraud and corruption here. Although I can give you tips. Where was I?” Sidious sighed, scratching his head. He’d left his meds at home again. ”You’re here because I’m aspiring to be the ruler of the universe and I need someone to do my dirty work.”

”Yes,” the girl nodded, a spark of recognition flickering over her face. ”I understand I will be answering to a… Mr. Sidious?”

”Ugh,” Sidious grunted, feeling his momentarily risen hopes deflate like farting bags. ”That’s Darth Sidious to yo–” He cleared his throat and placed a hand over his chest in identification. This would take some getting used to. ”Actually, that’s _Master_ to you.”

”I thought it was Chancellor Palpatine or my lord to me.”

”Yeahyeahyeahyeahscratchthat. Speaking of scratches…” He pulled out his red lightsaber from Force knows where and an extra one he’d brought from a place he’d rather not name. What had he ever done to deserve the lack of pockets in these rags? Evil degenerates, the entire clothing industry. ”Ahem,” he tossed the extra saber to the girl, and she caught it reflexively. ”Before I send you out on your first assignment, let’s see just what sort of damage you can deal first. Think of it as a job interview.”

”Uhh…” the girl’s eyes darted from the saber to Sidious. ”Damage, my Master? As a general rule, I should think that damaging the premises would make for a rather poor first impression at a job interview.”

Sidious dragged his palms up and down his temples, all but sobbing from sheer annoyance, ”Try damaging the interviewer! And I mean that literally. Try. Damaging. The interviewer. Meaning me. Moi. Myself and I. This guuuuuy.”

The girl pursed her lips, seeming a little hesitant, but at least she did not launch into a scandalized sermon about the brutality of fighting, as Sidious had half-feared. No no, she had to be aware of her exceptional abilities. After a beat, she casually tossed the saber from hand to hand and nodded. ”As you wish, my Master.”

The sparring session that followed was short but satisfying. Red and red clashed against one another in a series of lightning quick strikes and dodges on both sides. Of course, they didn’t call Sidious a Master of the dark side for nothing (well, he himself did most of the calling, what with the whole secret Sith Lord thing, but anyway), so it wasn’t as though she didn’t struggle to keep up with her new teacher. But Skywalker, undoubtedly, would have struggled too. And for a overgrown baby with zero experience who’d just been plucked out of a tube like a poi fish bred in an indoor aquarium, she was remarkable. The injections had done their job. And Sidious would have all the time in the world to polish that raw skill later on, all she’d have to do for now was get close enough to Skywalker to stick him with the pointy end and that would be that. And considering her striking resemblance to someone Skywalker had once killed an entire village of sanddd…dal-wearing desert savages for… ah _yes._ Oh, to be a fly on the wall and witness the dumbstruck horror on the boy’s face as his last moments were wasted on a futile effort to fathom the fact that he’d just been murdered by the spitting image of his own dearly departed, bitterly avenged mother! There was something just so deliciously poetic and morbidly ironic about that notion. Or maybe morbidly poetic and rabidly moronic? No, he already said that. What he meant was maliciously… de… vicious? Bitterly dear… utterly bionic? Ugh, moving on. 

Sidious was ready to put down his saber and congratulate his new star pupil on graduating murder school, when something interrupted the ceremony. His attention must have been elsewhere – murder and evilness maybe? A typo on her diploma? Nah, he’d not printed one. No wait, had he left the oven on? He’d only put the sandwich in to warm for a few minutes! Maybe he could frame the Jedi for the fire? – because otherwise that motion would have never made it past his defenses. And yet it did, cutting through skin and fabric and leaving Sidious' upper thigh screaming with sudden, sizzling pain. Well, at least he had a pocket now. 

For one weird moment that was somehow comically awkward and deadly serious at the same time, everything stood still. The girl saw her mistake – or success? – and yanked her weapon away as though she, too, had been burned. Sidious stared at her dumbly. He could feel that the wound was superficial and had cauterized itself instantly, but that was not the point. The point was… the look on her face, the look that had flashed there just for a fraction of a second when she’d struck him. That gleam in her eyes, that…

The girl drew a feverish breath, ”You –”

But Sidious interrupted her to ask, "That feel good?" 

The girl clamped her lips shut and let her breath even out before nodding. ”Yes. I can’t explain why… but it did. It really did.”

_There it was._

_Bloodlust._

Palpatine tented his fingers in his usual understated and hardly cartoonish fashion. He couldn't see his eyes, but he imagined they had a subtle, non-maniacal gleam of their own. ”GoooOOOod… gooOOd.”

”Yes, that’s what I just said."

”No, no, I was just… never mind, the moment’s gone.”

  
-

Two separate vessels awaited the odd pair at the docking area, as per Sidious' request. The Supreme Chancellor of the Republic couldn’t exactly return from his inspection visit to Kamino with an unregistered female clone that he’d paid for out of his own (figurative) pocket, but he was now satisfied that she could handle a solo flight to Coruscant and more importantly, the task that awaited her there. Before he could send her off on her murderous quest, however, there was still one thing he needed to do. Strictly speaking, she hadn't _really_ earned her Sith name just yet, not even close, but he was getting tired of addressing her as ’hey you! clone’ and Sh… Shhh… Shihhhm… what was increasingly starting to sound like aggressive shushing. Not that he really wanted her talking, either. Anything but that.

”Henceforth you shall be known as Darth…” He shrugged as he lazily considered the kneeling girl before him. Technically he was supposed to ask the dark side for a name, but as already established, the dark side probably wasn’t very impressed with this literal newborn’s accomplishments just yet. ”… Moeder.”

Okay, done. It sounded a bit like Dark Murder, which reminded Sidious of darkness and murder. Or Dark Mörder, which reminded him of a group of 8-year-old edgelords who’d just founded their first metal band. _You boys want some milk and cookies? No mom, we only drink the blood that rains from the pale midwinter sky and eat the flesh of our own tortured souls! Alright alright, dinner’s at 7._ (NOT based on a true story. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.)

The newly christened Moeder’s enthusiasm at receiving a name seemed to have deflated a little. ”Uh… thank you, my Master.”

Sidious pushed down his irritation. There would be plenty of time for correcting that attitude later. And by 'correcting', he meant blasting lightning at. ”Now, for your first mission,” he said, gesturing her to stand up as he pulled out a holo from inside of his toupee. Yuck, so clammy. He switched it on and pointed at the blue image that popped up to float in the air. ”I want you to find this man – his name is Anakin Skywalker, and we hate him, he’s the worst – anyway, I would try 500 Republica or the diaper aisle at Mart-Mart-Away. Or just follow the smell of motor oil and wasted potential.”

”Anakin Skywalker,” she repeated, her brow creasing as she studied the image. ”Diapers…”

”That’s right. Damn psycho has been hoarding those for weeks. I’m beginning to suspect he’s building a fort. Good luck finding him. Anyway, I want you to find Anakin Skywalker and…” Sidious put two fingers under his chin and slid them against his throat in a cutting gesture, just to make his meaning unambiguously clear. ”… I want you to take care of him. Put an end to his miserable existence. Is that understood?”

A little smile passed over the clone's lips as she nodded in the affirmative. Attagirl. ”Understood, my Master.”

  
-

  
Anakin was miserable. Inconsolable.

No, he was not. There had been a handful of times in his life when he _had_ felt that way, and this was not one of those.

Just… why did Obi-Wan have to be going _now?_

Okay, fine, maybe now was not any worse than any other time. He didn’t think there was a single instance in the history of time when he’d actually thought, _this is a great time for Obi-Wan to be going on a solo assignment without me there to watch his back. No no, I’d LOVE to stay behind and be no more useful than, I don’t know, the abstract concept of a potato as opposed to a physical potato that you could actually eat?_

Nah, the timing sucked. This was Grievous! And the problem wasn’t Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan was only the most ridiculously talented duelist Anakin had ever had the privilege of knowing, watching, learning from… but you know what was better than a ridiculously talented duelist? Two ridiculously talented duelists. Meaning Obi-Wan and Anakin. In case that wasn’t clear. Heck, the two of them weren’t known as The Team for nothing. And they certainly weren’t known as The Team for the cheap unlicensed merchandise on the Holonet. (Although their latest collector's edition set of caf mugs was actually pretty good quality. And they’d picked really nice pictures to print on them, too. One of them was a candid shot of the two of them shaking with laughter with hand-painted details of little hearts and cry-laugh emojis floating around them and spurts of blue milk shooting out of their nostrils. Anakin had bought ten.)

Point was, they were a team. A matching set. A package deal. Except it was a limited-time offer and the expiration date was fast approaching, because Anakin was damaged goods and once the Jedi found out they would pull the flawed product and there would be no refunds and what was with him and analogies lately because he was sort of losing track of this one –

Ahem. Point was… maybe there wasn’t even a point, just a nagging question eating at the insides of his soul; why was it that every time he was about to gain a family member, he always had to lose one first? Not _lose_ lose, of course, because he still had every faith in Obi-Wan’s victory. Lol, it was just Grievous. He just wished they’d got to go on one last mission together before… the inevitable? And _why_ did it have to be inevitable, again; their impending parting of the ways? Call him old-fashioned, but wasn't the birth of a child traditionally something that was supposed to bring family members together, instead of breaking them apart? At least he'd got to see Ahsoka one final time before… well, you know, the thing. The thing that still didn't involve anyone dying or anything, but rather a new, miraculous life being brought into the world. He just didn't get it. Why couldn't they just be one big, happy family together? (They wrap up that business on Mandalore yet?)

”So…” Anakin sighed, throwing a glance towards the massive assault ship looming a few meters away onto which thousands of clone troopers as well as tanks and weapons were being loaded. ”If you die, I’ll kill you.”

Obi-Wan gave him a wry look. ”Seems a bit redundant, don’t you think?”

”I mean it,” Anakin assured him. ”By the time I’m done with you, you’re gonna wish you had… lived.”

”Assuming I retain the cognitive ability to feel regret in my posthumous state, I think I can manage that on my own. But I appreciate the sentiment, truly.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. ”Just let me know if you need my help.”

”Someone’s eager to send me off to eternal misery.”

”I meant, with Grievous!”

”Oh, that.” A reassuring smile lit up on Obi-Wan's face as he reached out to give his friend a little pat on the shoulder. ”I’ll be fine, Anakin. You just focus on your own mission and we’ll have this pesky war wrapped up before you can say… uh, well, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.”

”Oh… _that._ ” That referring to his mission, not the word salad. At first, Anakin had been upset that the Council was making him go behind his friend’s back and oh, literally commit treason by spying on none other than the leader of the Republic. But during the last few weeks, the reason for his displeasure had… shifted. The mission had proved much harder than he’d thought! If Anakin hadn’t known better (did he?), he’d thought the Chancellor was avoiding him. Anakin would have put it down to the hustle and bustle that came with running a war-torn Galaxy, but the Chancellor always seemed to have time for him in the past. In fact, he seemed to have unlimited time for him, seven days a week, at any given point of the day. Or night, probably. A couple of weeks ago, he’d actually drunk-dialed Anakin in the middle of the night, at least Anakin assumed he’d been drunk because he’d kept going off about a dark and wise plague that could create life, or something. At some point Anakin had cut him off and told the man in the nicest way possible that he’d just interrupted a lovely dream of his mom hugging him, and to kindly go sleep off his liquor. There had been an awkward pause before the Chancellor had muttered something to the effect of ’this is the worst timeline’ and hung up on him.

”He’s on some random visit to Kamino and won’t get back until well into the evening,” Anakin informed his friend. ”Also, I’m pretty sure he’s avoiding me,” he confessed, feeling the pout on his face.

”I’m sure that’s not… something I secretly hope is true,” Obi-Wan mumbled (something he secretly hoped was _what?_ ) before his gaze swiveled to the assault ship, which had almost finished loading. ”Ah well, duty calls –”

”Right, yeah.” Determined to put on a brave face, Anakin started to flap his hands wildly in a shooing gesture, ”Go beat Grievous. Go kick that skinny metal butt of his, _go go go!”_

Obi-Wan was still chuckling under his breath as he turned to wave a goodbye of his own, ”May the Force be with you too, Anakin.”

  
-

  
_”You’re back!”_

_”I am, my love. But I can’t stay.”_

_”But why? I’ve waited so long –”_

_”Listen to me, Shmargaret! I died. I am a ghost. I was allowed to come back to complete my mission, but –”_

The blue glow from the screen cast flashing, asymmetrical shapes on the wall… no, actually, most of them fell on the giant fort of diaper packs that Anakin had built around the holovision corner at his wife’s apartment. Padmé had made him stop hoarding them a while ago because it was ’making it harder to invite friends over’ and ’obviously some kind of symptom, but would you mind getting a new one? The shoes are adorable though!’ 

At eight months pregnant, she was still working late nights at the Senate, whereas Anakin… well, Anakin was kind of just waiting for the Chancellor to get back from Kamino so he could go commit treason again. Fun. In the meantime, he’d decided, the most productive thing for him to do was channel-surf. That, and fall deeper and deeper down a dark abyss of overwhelming loneliness and anxiety, but he could multitask.

-click-

_”Is that really you, mother? I thought you were eaten by monsters!”_

_”No, I was kidnapped by vampires. But they made me their queen! And now we’re rich!”_

-click-

_”You cannot stop change any more than you can stop…”_

”Hey!” Anakin shouted, chucking popcorn at the screen. ”I’m suing.”

_”… blue milk from spoiling.”_

”Ew,” Anakin turned to scrunch his nose at his own, untouched glass of blue milk that rested on the side table. ”You know, I’m not sure that’s an actual fact. Couldn’t you make it into cheese, or something?”

_”I’m not sure that’s an actual fact, Shimon. Couldn’t you make it into cheese, or something?”_

”I’ve lost my appetite,” Anakin decided, knocking over his popcorn bowl as he shot up from the couch and turned off the holovision.

Just then, he heard the buzzer go off.

 _Padmé!_ he thought cheerfully as he circled around the couch and started jogging to the door. She was back early. Had she left her key at home? Maybe she was only swinging by to pick it up.

Really, it was selfish of him to wish that all of his more important and useful friends and family members completely re-arrange their schedules just to spend time with him. And it wasn’t as though he actively _wished_ that, either, because again, they were all important people off doing important things. It was just, sometimes – _well_ –

Anakin swept the door open and for a fraction of a second, his anticipation of Padmé tricked his eyes into seeing her there. ”Sorry, I haven’t seen your ke… y… ” His voice trailed away like a ghost train as his perception caught up with reality and… and, uh…

Yup, reality. Reality was definitely what he was seeing here.

”Anakin Skywalker?” the newcomer asked. Only, ’newcomer’ was hardly the right word. Because the right word… well, there was definitely a right word for this, and it was a word he’d thought about every single day for the past fourteen years, but…

_…ghost… died…_

_…kidnapped by… any more than…_

_…come back… is that really…_

"Hello, Anakin," the woman before him greeted him with a radiant smile. ”My name is Darth Moeder and I’m here to take care of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anakin.exe has stopped working
> 
> I’ve been rewatching Once Upon a Time (don’t judge me) and I gotta say, the whole reuniting-with-a-long-lost-parent-but-they’re-the-same-age-as-you? major ouat vibes.


	5. Embrace Your Destiny (Literally)

_Okay okay okay okay okay._

She was here. This was real life. Anakin stumbled a step back and forced his breath under control, though his heart was still threatening to split his chest open and splatter all over hers. It was like his insides were bursting with an overwhelming, steadily rising warmth, like the kind that would emanate from freshly prepared cinnamon buns that you’d have just pulled out of the oven that smelled like heaven on earth but were oh-so-hot to the touch. And still, you couldn’t help but reach out with your finger and gingerly test the surface, because you had never seen anything so beautiful, so _perfect_ – 

”…Mom?” 

Forget gingerly reaching out. Before Anakin had even fully processed her presence – at his doorstep, on this up-until-now-bog-standard evening almost three years after her death (!) – let alone had time to contemplate exactly how he should react to that, he had whisked himself into her arms and thrown his own around her neck. He heard a soft ’oh!’ as he buried his head in the crook of her neck, but it took her all of one and a half seconds to recover from the surprise and embrace him right back. 

”Mom,” Anakin murmured into her shoulder. ”I missed you! I missed you… s _o much_ …”

He wanted to freeze this moment and live in it forever. How long he’d dreamed of this reunion never to be – in more than one sense. Like sure, he used to _dream_ of it, as in vaguely yearn for what he could never have. But then, a few weeks ago, he’d begun to _literally_ dream of it, the way he had dreamed of… other, less joyful things in the past. And even then, it would have been an exaggeration to say that he’d gotten his hopes up – because what, exactly, might he have hoped for? A miracle? A trip back in time? An alternate universe where the past three years never happened? What sort of a scary-ass, all-powerful entity could possibly make any of those happen? To Anakin, those dreams had been a source of comfort, a way of remembering the past, a way of seeing his mother again. Never in his wildest dr– ahem, fantasies?… had he imagined they’d actually come true! 

Really, he didn’t think he would’ve ever been able to stop hugging her, had he not longed to look into her eyes just as badly. Partially so he could confirm that she was really there and this wasn’t some trick or hallucination or a manifestation of his long-repressed mental anguish or whatever, but mostly he just wanted to look at her, to take in every small detail of those dearly beloved features he’d missed so much. 

For the first time, it registered that she did not look quite the way he remembered her. She was… younger. Much younger. Younger than Anakin ever remembered knowing her as. Like… his age younger, with youthfully soft and round features and not a single wrinkle or gray hair anywhere in sight. 

Huh. Weird. But then again, she was also back from the dead, so maybe two weirds make a perfectly normal? Yes, that seemed like a perfectly logical and mathematically sound concept. 

”Mom,” he repeated with a quivering chuckle, staring into those big brown eyes that had watched over him through his childhood, which might have been a strong contender for just about the worst childhood imaginable had she not been there for him. He wanted to drown himself in his own happy tears. Eventually he settled for the slightly less dramatic option of wiping the wetness from his eyes and inviting her in. 

While Anakin had been mentally navigating through his utter and complete disbelief and perfect and complete happiness, the surprise visitor had been silently studying him with both fondness – or was it just _friendliness?_ – and mild confusion in her eyes. She let out a soft huff of laughter of her own, breaking the slight tension between them that Anakin hadn’t even realized was there. It occurred to him that she seemed a little… bemused. Maybe a little lost, too. 

”Thank you,” she said courteously as Anakin gestured her inside. It was a passing, small thing, but it only added to Anakin’s steadily growing impression that something was a little off here. His mother, as he remembered her, was the furthest thing from impolite, but there was a strange stiffness to her – positively _swole?_ – shoulders as she stepped into the apartment and took in her surroundings. 

”Please, sit down,” he urged her, gesturing to the yellow couches that lined the central sitting area in the living room (separated by a curtain from the diaper fort). She thanked him again and they sat down, side by side. 

Anakin wanted to give her a moment to sit and catch her breath so as to avoid overwhelming her from the get-go, which he feared he might have already done, but the second his butt cheeks touched the cushions it was like he’d sat on an on/off switch. ”That _is_ you, isn’t it, mom? I know it's you. Please, just tell me it’s you.” 

An uncertain smile slipped over her lips as she extended her hand for a shake. ”My name is Darth Moeder. And that _is_ you, isn’t it… Anakin?” 

Anakin took the hand and shook it. It felt so familiar and yet so strange in his clasp; same shape, same size, only… smoother. ”Yes, it’s me, mom.” 

He couldn’t help calling her mom. Because it _was_ his mom! But wait… Dart _what now?_ It struck him that she had already introduced herself by this peculiar name when she’d first appeared at the door. ”Dartmouther,” he repeated it aloud, his best approximation of it, anyway. ”Dark… matter? Is that like a surname? Did you get married?” He felt his brow crease in concern. ”Wait, _again?_ Tell me everything, mom.” 

”Oh, I’m not married,” she assured him with a breathy chuckle. ”That’s just the name my employer gave me.” 

”Your… employer?” Anakin repeated, flinching minutely. Of all the sentences to put such a perfectly normal word in… Such an innocent, everyday term over here on Coruscant, while back home on Tatooine, it used to be just another euphemism for – 

For a moment he was so dumbstruck with shock that he wasn’t sure whether his mouth was open or closed or which position was better for producing sounds, again. 

She tried to brush off the whole thing with a smile. ”Let’s talk about you. You’re a Jedi and a war general. That must be such a demanding life.” 

”Don’t change the subject,” Anakin insisted, feeling his chest churning with stewing, simmering trauma soup that had been kept under the lid for too long. ”I want to hear more about this employer of yours. Is it that Cliegg guy? I knew something was up with him!” 

She tilted her head regretfully. ”I’m sorry. I’m afraid I signed a fairly rigorous non-disclosure agreement.” 

”Please mom,” Anakin implored, taking both her hands in his and tugging at them pleadingly. ”I can help you. My wife can help you. She’s a Senator of the Galactic Republic, and this is her apartment. Just say the word and we can get you out of whatever situation you’re in. We can help you, I promise.” 

”But I’m here to help _you,_ ” she replied, with a touch of good-natured amusement in her voice. ”It’s what I was sent here to do.” Before Anakin had time to absorb this information, let alone argue against it, she prompted, ”So _you’re_ married.” 

”Yes, to the most wonderful and amazing woman in the whole world,” he confessed, the feverish warmth on his face cooling down to a soft blush. ”Besides you, of course,” he added, although he heard the flicker of uncertainty in his voice. He was seriously starting to question her identity now. ”You… you remember Padmé… don’t you?” 

”Padmé,” she echoed with a thoughtful frown. ”And a Senator, you say? I know _of_ Padmé Amidala, the Senator from Naboo. Congratulations.” 

”Oh, I see,” Anakin choked out, feeling his world come crashing down like a million starfighters. And there were no bouncy castles to soften that rough landing, this time. ”You’re not my mother at all, are you?” 

”You think I’m your mother?” she asked in surprise. Had Anakin not been wallowing in devastating, world-ending disappointment, he’d have thought she sounded a little… delighted at the idea. ”Well, that explains why you’ve been calling me mom for the past five minutes.” She reached out to touch his shoulder, all heartfelt sympathy, ”I’m very sorry, Anakin, but I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I’ve never even been pregnant.” 

There had been plenty of weirdness around his mother’s pregnancy, but she’d never denied the actual pregnancy part. And for the person currently sitting in his living room to be Shmi Skywalker, Anakin glumly reasoned, she would have to a) suffer from amnesia b) have discovered the fountain of youth c) have risen from the dead, which, when you put it all together, was starting to seem like an awful lot of improbable coincidences. 

The interesting part was, she was not claiming to be Shmi Skywalker, either. Well, he supposed the amnesia would have made sure of that if you went with that theory, but either way, evidently she was no con artist. Anakin liked to think of himself as a pretty good judge of character (though he might have been wrong about the Chancellor – if the man really saw him as a son or even a nephew he would make time to see him!), and the person sitting next to him did not seem malicious or unsavory in any way. Quite the opposite. Granted, she was being a bit secretive about her… uh, work? But still – 

”You said… you were sent here to help me?” Anakin felt his face brighten as the mother of all epiphanies hit him. She must be like his guardian angel or fairy godmother, or something! Like in those Nabooian storybooks that Padmé had showed him during their stay at her childhood home! (Carbonella was his absolute favorite!) Of course. It all made sense now. Of course she would appear to him in the bodily form of his beloved mother. Only younger, because she was a flawless, immortal being. Shmi Skywalker had only been one of those. ”By your employer?” And this employer – was it… God? The Force? The angels of Iego? The collective goodness in the universe? 

”That’s right,” she nodded. ”Well, specifically, he told me to take care of you, and –” 

”And what?” Anakin could barely contain himself. Don’t get him wrong, he was still aching from the gut-wrenching, heart-shredding, soul-crushing disappointment that his mother had not actually risen from the grave out of sheer yearning to be with her son, but honestly? This wasn’t a half bad consolation prize. His very own fairy godmother was everything he’d never known he wanted. And whenever their gazes met… well, he saw his mother’s eyes, that much was obvious. But it wasn’t just the way she looked, the human form that she had chosen to manifest in. Whenever he looked into those eyes, it was almost like… he _saw_ her there. He couldn't really explain it.

His guardian angelmother had been weighing her answer to his follow-up question for some time. Finally she drew a breath and said, ”There is something I must ask you. I’m sorry if it seems a little intrusive.” She leaned in closer. ”Are you miserable?” 

Anakin stared at her, caught off guard – but not offended – by the question. Before he could really begin to contemplate an answer, he felt a familiar, stinging sensation starting to build behind his eyes. And before he knew it, he’d already crashed headfirst into her arms and burst into tears. 

\- 

”…and I know I shouldn’t complain. I know I’ve had a very privileged life in so many ways. I have so much to be grateful for. But I just… I don’t even know what the problem is. But I know I’m not ready to be a father. And I’m not… ready to leave my old life behind, either.” 

Anakin heard his own words echo in the silence that followed and shook his head. Just a bunch of non-sequiturs that didn’t make any semblance of a point. This angelic, otherworldly creature had showed up at his doorstep for the sole purpose of helping him and he couldn’t even explain what the problem was. Or why he was feeling this way. Or _what_ he was feeling. Sighing, he looked up from the mug of cocoa that he’d been stirring for the past half-hour. His very own godguardian had gone to the trouble of making this delicious hot beverage with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles and he’d allowed it to get cold just like that. What a waste. 

_A waste…_

”Maybe it’s just… I feel like I’m being selfish. That I’m throwing away the life that the Jedi gave me. The life my mother wanted me to have. I’m supposed to be this… prophesied hero that will save the Galaxy and bring balance to the Force. Whatever that means. But I… this baby is all I want. Having a family, making memories together… that’s all I want. Only… it’s not. But it also is. Because I’ve come to realize… that my family includes other people besides my wife and our child. People that are long gone… or who soon will be. Because of the Jedi and their rules. And I don’t… I’m not ready for that. I know I’ll still have Padmé – thank the Force for that, or whatever deity you serve that sent you here, big fan – but I… I didn’t realize just how much I’ve always depended on Obi-Wan’s guidance, for instance. And just how much I, _well,_ care about him. I mean, I knew that, obviously, but… you know what I mean? But he’s a Jedi through and through, you know, with a capital J, whole nine yards, walks around with a business card and a neon sign, probably. And it’s not like he’s abandoning me. I’m the one abandoning him, and abandoning my duty! And a part of me doesn’t even want to, but I know that the Jedi will kick me out as soon as they find out about the baby and there’s nothing I can do, and I’ve never really felt like I fit in with their lot, anyway. I… I just… I get attached to people, I latch onto them like crazy, but they keep leaving, and now I’m the one doing the leaving and yet I _still_ keep clinging to them, even though I don’t deserve them and I never have–” 

”Alright, alright,” his godangel soothed him, adjusting the blankets draped over his shoulders while he finally took a sip from the mug. Mmm, still hot. He hadn’t realized that the supposedly cheap The Team ™ mugs that he’d bought off the Holonet were self-heating. It had been a hot minute – heh, _hot,_ get it? – since he’d had time to sit down and have a nice warm drink. 

His mothergod leaned over and squeezed the mugless hand that rested on Anakin’s lap. ”First of all, you’re not complaining. Acknowledging that you have much to be thankful for is great, and commendable, but all pain is valid, and it’s better to let those feelings out than to bottle it all up inside and suffer alone. I’m really glad you told me this, Anakin. And I think you’re really glad you told me, too.” 

Anakin nodded, biting back another round of the waterworks. This was crazy! Here he was, pouring his heart out to a complete stranger and telling her his deepest, darkest secrets (okay, maybe not darkest). And the weird thing was, it all felt so… natural. So… _good._ She truly was a godsend. Or Forcesend. Universesend? It didn’t even matter. Though he was still a little curious. 

”Second of all, congratulations on the baby,” she went on, gracing him with another one of her lovely smiles. ”I’ve never been a parent –” Seeing what must have been a microexpression of disappointment flickering over Anakin’s face, her tone turned a little rueful as she continued, ”I think I’d remember it if I had. But I think it’s very common for new parents and soon-to-be parents to feel the way you do. That you’re just not ready. The good news is, I don’t think anyone’s ever ready.” Her smile took on a playful quality, ”Look at me. I certainly didn’t expect to gain a son today, yet here I am –” 

”Finding out you’re about to become a grandmother,” Anakin supplied with a laugh. What was happening here? They already had inside jokes! Still chuckling, he added, ”At the grand old age of what, twent– oh, that’s right, sorry. You never ask an immortal their age.” (Or was it height? Honestly, he wasn’t sure.) 

His personal fairy god was laughing right along with him. Even as her face sobered, her natural, kindly glow still remained, ”And as for these people that you think of as family… I don’t know much about the Jedi or their rules, but I think family is family. So if you think of them as family, I whole-heartedly believe that they feel the same way about you. I don’t think they want to lose you any more than you want to lose them. And you’re not abandoning anyone. On the contrary, you’re preparing to take care of a new baby; a tiny, vulnerable child who needs you. That’s not selfish, Anakin. Quite the opposite. Becoming a parent, putting your own life on hold to look after your child… it’s among the most selfless things a person can do.” 

Anakin held her gaze. ”You really think so?”

”I know so.” Flushing a faint shade of red, she hurried to amend, ”Oh, I meant… of course, I don’t _know_ know so. I meant… I know it as a general truth.” Her lips curled up in a mysterious smile.

Anakin could feel a wistful expression falling over his own face as he leaned his chin on his hand and studied her for a long, abstracted moment. ”You really are just like my mother. You’re just as wise, and kind, and understanding…” 

Her gaze fell to her lap. 

”I’m sorry,” Anakin hastened to apologize. ”I’m being weird, aren’t I? Because I already mistook you for my mom, and –” 

”No, no, not at all,” his celestial guardian assured him. ”I’m just… I’m honored to be compared to someone as beloved and important as your own mother. I… I really don’t know what to say.” 

”You know…” Anakin pondered aloud. ”Darlingmother is a bit of a mouthful. Do you have a nickname, or…?” 

She shook her head. ”No, I don’t think I do.”

”Would it be okay if I gave you one?”

”Of course.”

Anakin felt his heart pounding against the inside of his chest. But unlike so many times on the battlefield, the sensation didn’t stem from alarm, unease or excitement. ”How would you feel about… Shmi?” 

Her face lit up in beaming delight. ”You know it’s funny, because my employer keeps addressing me by a similar name. Though I’m starting to think he’s just shushing me.” She then fixed him with a sharp but not unkind look. ”I’m guessing that’s your mother’s name.” 

”If it’s too weird, we can–” 

”No, no. Really, I’m honored.”

No sooner had they exchanged gestures of mutual approval than Anakin felt a pang of hesitancy in his chest. So she felt honored by the name - good. But what exactly was _his_ intention here? Was it to honor his late mother… or to replace her with a newer and shinier model? 

_Nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope!_ This was probably the fastest Anakin had ever nope’d out of a conclusion (and according to Padmé, he rarely even followed his thoughts through to conclusion, which rendered the process even faster). No one could ever replace Shmi Skywalker, no one! She was one of a kind and always would be! So NOPE! That was nope what he was doing. _Not_ what he was doing, not. Not. 

It was just… you know. A matter of convenience. No matter how you looked at it, or from whatever angle you looked at her, she was a dead ringer for his mother, so he’d probably accidentally end up calling her Shmi, anyway. Actually, he’d probably end up calling her mom – already had – which was _way_ weirder. So Shmi was the obvious choice. And not weird in the least. Nope. 

”So… what about your father?” Shmi asked, pulling Anakin from his… uh, rich inner world. 

”Well, it’s complicated. There’s the Force – long story. Won’t play catch with me, but useful for yeeting my friends, 8.5/10 I guess. There’s Obi-Wan, who I guess is more of a big brother/mentor/best friend these days, so I’m knocking off a few points for that, 998/10. Last but not least –” 

_Kriff._

_Palpatine._

Anakin’s gaze snapped to the chronometer. The Chancellor would have returned from Kamino by now, and Anakin was supposed to be spying on him. 

_Kriff, kriff, kriff!_

He didn’t want to, of course. He’d literally just been in the middle of saying how the Chancellor was like a father to him. And even if one ignored the whole treason aspect… he didn’t think the Chancellor wanted to see him. There was no getting around it, the man had been avoiding Anakin for weeks now. There was but a single explanation: Anakin must have done something to disappoint him. Well, suppose he’d always known it was all a little bit too good to be true, the most important person in the entire universe taking an interest in a slave boy from the Outer Rim, treating him like a son, going out of his way to spend time with him. The Chancellor must have finally seen through him, seen him for the tiny, insignificant sand particle that he was, realized that there was nothing special about him at all, like he’d always insisted there was. Or maybe he already knew about the Council’s suspicions towards him and how Anakin was just going along with their schemes instead of standing up for his friend who was so _obviously_ innocent of any and all wrongdoing. This was the guy who donated blood to hairless children! (Maybe he was disappointed with Anakin because the boy had not donated _enough?_ ) 

But then… 

_Family is family. So if you think of them as family, I whole-heartedly believe that they feel the same way about you._

Anakin gulped down the rest of the cocoa and wiped off his mouth. ”You’re not in a hurry to get back to heaven, are you? How would you feel about a little excursion?” 

”Excursion?” 

Shmi was right. Anakin wasn’t abandoning anyone. And he certainly wasn’t about to lose another family member, not if he had anything to say about it. 

”There’s someone I’d like you to meet. Someone who has been like a father to me.” 

And assuming she was right twice over, the Chancellor didn’t want to lose Anakin, either. 


	6. Search Your Feelings, You Know It To Be Good

_Not to be dramatic, but…_

”…and since you said you’ve never been a materialistic person, I think your wife is right. I think it _is_ a symptom. You told me that the Jedi aren’t allowed possessions, correct? So maybe what you’re doing – hoarding diaper packs, impulse-buying ten copies of the same mug – is a form of rebellion? A way of distancing yourself from the Jedi and their strict rules. A way of showing them, or rather showing yourself, ’hey, I’m an adult and I can do whatever I want’?” 

Shmi the fairygodguardianangelmother smiled at what must have been an almost comically engrossed and fascinated expression on Anakin’s face. He was listening intently, hanging on to his benefactor’s every word as they walked side by side into the Senate building. 

_…this is utterly blowing my mind._

Well, suppose he wasn’t being dramatic, it was just an expression. That is, unless someone re-activated the bomb in his neck and literally blew his head off. Heh, unresolved trauma. Classic. 

Force, it felt good to talk to someone. 

”And it isn’t as though they’ve been bad purchases,” Shmi continued. ”Obviously you’re going to need those diapers when the baby comes. I also recall you telling me that you’ve been feeling anxious about becoming father, so buying all this baby stuff might also be a way of compensating for your perceived shortcomings.” Her lips curled in a sympathetic smirk, ”Emphasis on perceived. I have no doubt that you’re going to make a wonderful father, Anakin.” 

Anakin bobbed his head, not so much agreeing as shrinking under the – heh – perceived praise. They shared a moment of comfortable silence as the turbolift under them hummed into readiness and shot upward. 

”And as for the mugs, they all have a really nice picture of you and your friend on them. You told me that you’re afraid of losing him when you have to leave the Jedi Order. So maybe you wanted to have a keepsake of him? I take it the Jedi aren’t much into gift-giving.” 

Anakin’s curls flapped against his cheeks as he shook his head. ”I already ordered the limited-release Snyguy and Skips edition,” he confessed. ”That would be me and Ahsoka. And yes, they misspelled our nicknames, which according to Rex just adds to the resale value. But I don’t care about that.” 

His eyes dropped as the turbolift’s doors opened with a melodic _plim_ and a long row of office doors greeted them on either side. ”And at the end of the day, I don’t care about those mugs, either. Although it’s kind of nice that they’re self-heating. But I don’t care about them. I want the real thing. I want my friends, and I want my family. That’s it.” 

As though on cue, or by magic, Anakin got his wish when not one but two members of his family emerged from an adjacent corridor just then. Oh, wow! She really was his fairy godmother! (No wait, that wasn’t right. It was the genie of the lamp that granted wishes, while fairy godmothers made your dreams come true. Important distinction.) 

Anyway, back to Padmé and the baby. Surprise flashed over her face as she spotted her husband, her hand coming up to rest on the many layers of dark red fabric that fell over her swollen stomach. The whole ensemble kind of almost hid the baby bump from certain angles if you turned down the lights and wore sunglasses. For once, Anakin was glad for the Senate’s persistent tendency to turn a blind eye to what was going on right in front of them. 

With the exception of a few senators, of course. 

”An… General Skywalker,” Padmé spluttered, awkwardly sliding into that familiar tone of feigned formality that the secret husband and wife used in public. ”We’ll be wrapping up in an hour or - I mean, if it’s urgent, General -” 

Anakin did a quick mental scan of the hallway, feeling for any Force signatures skulking nearby. Other than Chancellor Palpatine a good twenty doors away, the place was all but deserted at this hour. And so, Anakin sailed over to his wife and leaned down to plant a big old smooch on her cheek. 

”No, it’s okay,” he assured her when she recoiled. With a flourish of his hand, he proceeded to introduce the two women, ”Padmé, I’d like you to meet Shmi. She’s my daily anger guardian. No, I mean, fairy godmother/guardian angel. Shmi, this is my life. I mean, my wife. _And_ my life. The love of my wife. The wow of my life.” 

”Your daily…?” Padmé blinked up at him, then at Shmi – who greeted her with a polite ”How do you do, Senator” – then at him again. ”Anakin, what’s going on? I really do have to get back –” 

”Yeah, of course, I understand,” Anakin nodded. ”Actually, I just wanted to ask you if it’s okay for her to come visit me at the apartment, like, maybe, every now and then. I already let her in today without asking you and I’m sorry, I should have called you. But I can vouch for Shmi. She made me hot cocoa and then we watched puppy videos on Holotube and there was this one video where the puppy, Amadeus, was best friends with this nerf, Harriet, and Harriet would pick Amadeus up with her horns and then Amadeus would clean her fur with his tongue. Sooooooo adorable. I’ll show it to you when you get home. Anyway, after that we had this really amazing conversation about Obi-Wan and the mugs and everything else and Shmi told me it’s okay, and that the diapers are a symptom just like you said and honestly, I already feel so much better now. She’s really wise and kind and she’s a magical being –” 

”Alright, alright, slow down,” Padmé interrupted his explanation by flapping her hands. She gave his companion a polite look, ”It’s lovely meet you… um, Shmi.” 

”Lovely to meet you, too, Senator.” 

”Will you excuse us for a moment?” she requested, not really asking as she grabbed her husband by the arm and pulled him into the corridor from where she’d come. Shmi the celestial envoy nodded her courteous acceptance. 

”Anakin, what’s going on?” she began to question him as soon as the door snapped between them and the other surprise visitor of the day. ”Who is that?” 

”I told you, her name is Shmi and she is my go –” 

”Shmi?” Padmé’s brows knitted together as recognition pierced her tone. ”Shmi, as in…” Her voice dropped to a barely-there hiss as she inched closer to her husband’s face. ”…your late mother?” 

”I know, the resemblance is uncanny,” Anakin acknowledged with a smile. ”I suggested she go by that nickname and she was okay with it.” 

”Anakin…” Padmé's shoulders shrunk back with a heaaaaavy sigh. Overall, his beloved seemed to be reacting to the good news with slightly less wild enthusiasm than Anakin had expected. ”When I told you to go get a new symptom, I didn’t mean it literally." 

”Oh no, this is not a symptom,” Anakin informed her. ”You see, she’s telling me all the things that _are._ ”

Padmé turned away for a moment, casting an appraising look through the door window to the slightly distorted figure standing on the other side. After a while of consideration, she admitted, ”Well, I don’t know. She doesn’t strike me as malicious.” 

”Right? That’s exactly what I thought when I first realized she wasn’t really my mother.” 

”You actually thought she was… oh Anakin.” She sighed again, somehow managing to out-sigh her first sigh in terms of sheer intensity. Two well-manicured fingers came up to rub her temple. ”Okay, now I really have to go. Last meeting of the day. Listen, I know you’re an excellent judge of character.” She did a little mouth shrug, eyes darting to what Anakin could have sworn was the general direction of Palpatine’s office. ”Most of the time. So any friend of yours is a friend of mine.” Another mouth shrug, another pointed look in the same direction. ”Almost.” Naaaah. He was probably just imagining it. 

Padmé rested her hands against his chest, looking him earnestly in the eye. ”Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay? And rather than just discuss your own personal matters, try to find out who she is, where she came from and what she wants. Her real identity, okay?” 

”I told you,” Anakin insisted, ”she’s the fairiest of them –”

”Identity that you didn’t get from a storybook,” Padmé retorted, and before Anakin could counter-retort, she'd leaped up to stand on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. ”Alright, see you at home.” She was already halfway down a flight of stairs when an echo of her voice rang out from below, ”Keep your eyes open for my rose-gold tourmaline headdress, okay? The day one, not the night one. I have to take the floor tomorrow, and I’m hoping it will draw attention away from my stomach. Genius, right? Totally foolproof. Okay, love you!” 

”Love you…”

Anakin dismissed his wife’s reservations about Shmi as quickly as said wife had dismissed herself from his company. _What she really wants, huh?_ She didn’t even give him a chance to explain that Shmi had been very upfront about her intentions from the very beginning. That she was here to help him and take care of him. Straight from the saint’s mouth.

Seriously. There was just nothing suspicious about Shmi the divine emissary whatsover, okay? Nothing. Just because she had signed a non-disclosure agreement or whatever didn’t mean she had anything to hide. So there. Checkmate. 

-

”I’m just saying, Dr. Se, that you might have given me a heads-up!”

A dramatic clatter rang through Sidious’ office as the Sith Lord tossed yet another holoprojector over the desk and it smashed into pieces against the floor. To him, money was not so much a goal as an inevitable by-product of the power and status he did crave and pursue, but man, it was nice to have an infinite supply of by-products. And thus, an infinite supply of… well, products. It allowed him to express his unceasing frustration with his less competent underlings, like, say, the ones who apparently couldn’t tell a Skywalker from a Skymama if the latter crawled out of a tube and struck them in the face. Or upper thigh. 

_Ow. Still ow._

Ahem. Not based on a real example.

”’I didn’t think the sex was relevant,’” Sidious mocked the scientist’s feminine tone of voice with his tongue half out and pressed against his teeth. ”I can assure you my lord, we did not program her with a specific personality, and certainly not out of a desire to drive you up the wall, as your lordship so articulately put it. But if she developed one on her own, it’s a sign of intelligence.’” He blew a huff of air through his nostrils. ”Intelligence my butt! More like weakness. Or rebellion. Or both.”

Ah well. Once again, he was probably just overreacting. All this dramatic moaning and – uh, what was a dignified word for tantrum-throwing? Complaining? – might yet prove to be a waste of breath. The sooner his beautiful assassiness walked through that door with Skywalker’s head, the bet– 

”Hi, Chancellor!”

–ter attached to his shoulders it still was, apparently. And his shoulders to his torso and his torso to his buttocks and… overall, the freshly dispatched Sithette appeared to have done a pretty botched job. Because her very first hit job had just sailed into Sidious’ office with a pair of very functional legs; his steps light and dancing like he’d just walked into a flower shop and his anniversary was coming up. (Revolting.) 

”Anakin, my boy,” Sidious spluttered, half-paralyzed with dismay but still somehow managing to rise from his chair and put on his best 'a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one' face. ”You might have given me a… a heads-up.” Get it? Because heads, and shoulders, and… ugggghhhhh.

Skywalker showing up alive was bad enough, but then there was the curious case of his newly unleashed angel of death, the deadly and devastating Darth Moeder, just standing there next to him, like they’d just got together for a jolly good family time at the beach. (Brrrrrhhh!) Sidious drilled his gaze into that of his wayward student, silently demanding answers. Mostly to a single burning question, 

WHAT IN ALL THE EVERLOATHING SITH HELLS WAS HAPPENING HERE???

”I know, I’m sorry to show up unannounced, sir. I know you’ve been busy lately.” 

THE WHOLE WORLD WAS DISSOLVING INTO CHAOS!!! 

”Just trying to stop the world from dissolving into chaos. I missed you, my boy. I really… _missed_ you.”

BECAUSE SOMEONE NEEDED TO IMPROVE THEIR AIM!* 

”I understand.” There was a flicker of insecurity or some other easily exploitable quality on Skywalker’s face before his expression cleared faster than captured enemy territory, and he gestured towards his companion, ”Chancellor, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Her name is Shmi and she’s my fairy godmother and she just showed up today. Shmi, Chancellor.”

She was a… wait, her name was _what_ now? Sputnik? Sidious was distantly aware of staring blankly ahead, his eyes flicking between the two Sky-nudniks, his mind scrambling for… words. Any words. ”Oh, that’s… awful. I mean, the Jedi are being so unfair to you. I, I mean…” Ugh, this whole situation had thrown him for such a loop that he was just randomly spewing out some of his most tried-and-true stock lines, now. 

”I know, they can be,” Skywalker agreed, apparently, with whatever nonsense had just sprang out of his sagacious father figure’s mouth. ”But isn’t it great? Now that I have Shmi, I won’t have to bother you with my troubles nearly so often anymore, Chancellor. You can take a well-deserved break from being my go-to shoulder to cry on.” He flashed a little smile that was maybe supposed to be self-effacing, or some other equally pathetic quality. ”I know it’s been hogging your time away from more important things.”

Okay, Sidious had officially had enough of… whatever the fudnik this was. 

”That’s nice, that’s wonderful, excellent… excellent.” He scuttled over to Moeder, ”Pleasure to meet you, uh… Mr. Smee.”

”Shmi,” Skywalker might as well have screeched straight into his ear. 

”Oh, details, shmetails. Shmi, Shmm…”

”Shmi.”

”Actually,” Sidious was just barely holding back his rapidly growing ir-rage-tation as he put his hands on Moeder's shoulders, ”mind if I steal her away for just a sec? Give her a few hot tips on how to… _properly_ take care of you.”

”Well, sure, I mean, she’s sort of an expert, I think –”

”Pass the torch, so to speak,” Sidious elaborated, already shoving her towards the exit (gently, of course, so as not to upset Skywalker, because apparently that was something he had to worry about again!) ”Not literally of course, because that could easily result in a terrible accident. Wouldn't want that. Okay, be back in a jiffy! Don't die or anything!”

-

”Okay – and I mean every offense – what the _fuck_ are you doing?”

Shoved against the storeroom wall, Moeder blinked in startled surprise, even as Sidious took a few… ahem, respectful steps backwards. Wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea, because apparently, this one was really quite talented at getting the wrong idea!

”Right now? I’m wondering whether that word is really appropriate for a professional conte–” 

”I mean! What are you doing with Skywalker? I thought I told you in no uncertain terms to _take care of him!_ ” 

”And I am,” Moeder insisted, with an air of perfect, unearned confidence. ”You told me to put an end to his misery. So I went to 500 Republica as instructed and I wrapped him in blankets and made him hot cocoa, and we started off easy by watching puppy videos on Holotube. There was this one video where the puppy, Isabella, had been raised by quellfish so she basically thought she was a fish. The funny thing was, she didn’t swim like a dog _or_ a fish, it was more reminiscent of a –”

”I don’t care if she swam like the Mon fucking Calamari trying and failing to escape their inevitable occupation!” Sidious roared, earning another startled look from his malfunctioning murder machine. ”And don’t lecture me about professionalism when you’re the one who seems to have trouble grasping the concept!” 

Moeder lowered her head, her factory-produced shoulder muscles shrinking smaller. ”I’m afraid I don't understand, Master. Did I do something wrong?” 

” _Wrong?_ Wrong doesn’t begin to cover it! How could you misunderstand such a simple order? This is like, Dark Side 101! I even did _this!_ ” Sidious repeated his earlier simulation of slitting a throat by sliding his fingers under his chin.

”Yes, you told me to keep my chin up. Or to help him keep his chin up. I wasn’t sure. Either interpretation seemed applicable.”

”You…” The truth of the matter dawned on Sidious, then, like that annoying light phenomenon on most habitable planets that kept his beloved darkness away. ”You still don’t get it, do you?”

”Get what?” Moeder wondered. ”I’m really trying here, Master. I actually thought we were getting along pretty well, Anakin and I. You know, he… he really opened up to me.” 

”Oh, he opened up to you,” Sidious sneered. ”Saying that like you invented it…” 

Something reminiscent of… nostalgia stirred in the Sith Lord’s chest, at that moment. Perhaps… he had been too hasty with this whole discard-Skywalker-after-one-setback, and-by-discard-he-meant-kill, thing. Now that he really allowed himself to think about it, he found he really… missed his darling boy. Not as a person of course, because ew. No, he missed the way that gullible little idiot would absorb Sidious' manipulations like a sponge and leak his deepest secrets like a faulty faucet. Missed his larger-than-life sob stories and below-average judgment of character. Missed the sweet, sweet promise of his unparalleled raw potential. 

Only, as far as the manipulations were concerned, the Sith Lord had kind of been slacking in that department lately, because, you know, the planned murder. And the end of the war was almost upon them and he kind of really wanted an empire for Life Day so he needed to speed things along if he was going to get a second pupil gift-wrapped in time -

His gaze swiveled back to Moeder, studying her with renewed interest as he looked back on the strange encounter in his office. ”Yes, you do seem to have established a… good rapport with him.”

Moeder nodded. ”It’s funny. I’ve known him for all of three hours… but it feels so much longer, somehow.” 

”Exactly. Exactly. He trusts you. Implicitly. Because you remind him of his mother. The mother he lost and thought he would never see again. The mother he would do anything - _anything_ \- to… 

”New assignment. And this time, let me make my meaning explicitly clear. Your new assignment is to convince Skywalker to turn to the dark side. Convince him to pledge his life to the Sith. Here comes the easy part: tell him it’s the only way the two of you can be together. Tell him it’s the only way you can be a part of his life.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I stole (and paraphrased) that joke from Gravity Falls.


End file.
